


The Voyeur

by thesalmondean



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesalmondean/pseuds/thesalmondean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is watching Justin, and feels regret. Set during season 3. *one-shot*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Voyeur

The first few weeks you'd been okay. Sad and missing him, but relatively okay. Then one cold morning as you'd been hurrying across campus you'd seen him and it was as if you'd been punched in the gut. You watched him walking, he was completely unaware he was being observed. He moved with a deliberate pace, his head high and his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. He didn't look sad. That had been the worst part.   
  
You struggled for days after that sighting. Your fingers wouldn’t work right and you found what little remaining inspiration you’d had was gone.   
  
That was when you started following him. It was creepy. You knew it and you kind of hated yourself for it. You rationalized it by keeping your distance; by hiding in shadows and never letting yourself be seen. 

The more you watched him, the more you can saw that while he wasn’t sad, he was distracted. He acted lonely; or maybe that was wishful thinking on your part. You wondered briefly if he missed you, but then you decided probably not. You had a sinking feeling you knew who he was missing… Still, he was always alone and he didn’t go anywhere other than his classes and home. There seemed to be hope yet.

About a week later things changed. And drastically.

Suddenly he was heading to a new destination in the afternoon.

You didn’t know what went on inside the building. It housed many different offices and he could be in any of them. So you loitered outside, watching from across the street, waiting for him to emerge.

Your work suffered still as you spent more time following him around; and your professors warned you that you were slipping… You heard their warnings but still you felt compelled to continue your behavior.

A day later you’d followed him to Liberty Avenue - to Babylon. You didn’t follow him inside, though. You didn’t want to see if he was meeting someone, or kissing someone, or God forbid fucking someone in the back room. You sat outside, stewing on your own imagined scenarios until finally he emerged a few hours later, alone.

You breathed a sigh of relief, even though you knew you had no right to feel so possessive over him.

Things progress like this for a few more days until you finally see the truth. The honest, painful truth.

You had followed him, again, surprised but also not surprised that his destination was Babylon. This time you decided to go in after him. You watched him disappear inside then waited about ten minutes before paying the cover charge and following. You tried to hide your face, terrified of being spotted.

Really, you needn’t have worried…

Unable to see anything through the mass of half-naked men gyrating on the dance floor, you took the stairs up to the catwalk that crossed over the dance floor. There was a much better view from that vantage point and it didn’t take you but a few minutes to spot him…or rather them.

When you saw them your heart stopped. Your breath hitched. Your heart broke again and again and you felt a tear slip from your eye.

They were bathed in blue light, as if a spotlight was fixed upon them; like they were the bright shining center of the Babylon-universe. There was an obvious buffer of space around them, too. The dance floor was a mass of limbs and hands and heads all dipping and pulsing and bobbing but around them was an almost reverent space.

You felt sick to your stomach, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away because you finally saw _IT._ What they had together, which was something you’d never had with anyone, not even him.

It was magic, and they were magical.

You watched them for awhile. An hour maybe? You weren’t sure, and you weren’t alone. You noticed heads turning with each new song, your fellow fags eyed them with jealous rage and wanton desire. You briefly wished it was you and he that were getting the attention. That you were the object of every man’s desire.

But you weren’t. So you looked back down at them and let the pain take you over.

Below you they move as one. Their bodies pressed together; their hands on each other, touching everywhere. Resting on waists, tracing lines up arms, lightly caressing shoulders, carding through hair. It hurts because you wanted that for yourself, and the kicker was that you’d had it and you’d lost it.

Though you stopped to wonder if you ever really did have it in the first place…

The way they moved together, as one, it was so fucking obvious they were completely oblivious and unaware of every other person around them.

They kissed gentle and they kissed hard. They kissed lips and they kissed necks. They smiled to each other and they smiled away from each other. They looked at each other when their eyes were open and when they were closed their foreheads touched. It was, surprisingly, the most intimate thing you had ever seen in public. You felt almost guilty for intruding on it before you realized that it was a public dance club, and you weren’t the only one indulging in a little voyeurism.  

Confetti rained down and they didn’t stop, or even pause; eyes, hands, lips, hips, looking, touching, kissing, loving.

The songs changed and still they danced, holding to each other tightly. Their hands were familiar – seeming to wander without thought and without direction. The way they touched, it was obvious they knew what to do and how to do it.   

You saw tenderness and caring in their caresses – things you had assumed didn’t exist between them. You’d assumed a lot about their relationship, and now you were seeing that what you thought was true, wasn’t. You saw what you’d been told had been wrong – or misinterpreted - because this…you stood no chance against this. This was something you could never offer – something beyond your comprehension. Something so intimate you wonder how he ever walked away from it to begin with.

You had loved him. You really had. But you’d fucked everything up. Watching them now, though, you know it wouldn’t have lasted anyway. You were a casualty of war – the war between Brian and Justin. A part of you was glad to have had the few months you’d had with him, but a part of you wanted him still; felt you deserved him still.

But you didn’t; you don’t.

With a flare of regret, you turn and leave Justin behind – finally letting him go.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be mysterious about revealing too soon who the story POV is coming from - but it's not too hard to guess. I only hope it was slightly mysterious for even a moment. :)
> 
> And I wanted Ethan to regret his loss, to feel pain at hurting Justin, and to be jealous of Justin and Brian. I never liked Ethan, but I also truly believe that Justin and Brian would not have made it without Justin having that other relationship. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
